


100

by one_red_sock



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Blow Jobs, Chubby Jensen Ackles, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 19:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_red_sock/pseuds/one_red_sock
Summary: Jensen and Jared have been living together for almost a year now, enjoying a feederist lifestyle. Can Jensen hit the big 1-0-0 by their first anniversary?





	100

•Jared•

The weight looks so damned good on Jensen, Jared marvels to himself for the ninetieth time this week, all the while watching Jen navigate around their kitchen. Like, _real_ good. Fat and sassy good. Eat-him-up-with-a-spoon-and-have-more-for-dessert good.

Jared longs to sneak up behind him and grab those meaty lovehandles, leave bite marks all over the tender parts of Jensen's neck, but then he wouldn't get food and well … first things first.

Barely a year ago, when Jensen had asked Jared to move in, an unspoken mutual plan had eased into place. They'd never seen fit to discus it or define the parameters; it was the natural evolution of Jensen's secret self-indulgence meeting Jared's not-so-secret kinks. Both of them still worked out, because office jobs meant lots of sitting and sciatica, but Jared favored cardio whereas Jensen gravitated towards weights. And both of them liked to eat.

Consequently, Jared stayed lean and Jensen … didn't quite. And though Jared would be loath to admit it, this had been his dream from the jump. He loved Jensen for Jensen, but he _worshiped_ Jensen's plush body like a god.

At first, Jensen wasn't particularly complacent with the creeping addition of pudge around his middle, but nor did he seem to want to give up the dinner dates and lazy afternoons spent in bed. Movies and popcorn. Picnics, wine and cheese. All the embarrassingly romantic stunts that coaxed the weight to creep on.

Jared would catch Jensen grimacing at himself in the mirror, brows tugged in consternation as his pants barely zipped up, and his dress shirts gapped between the buttons. Jensen's belly had taken on a distinctly orbital bloom, his pretty jawline softened. And no matter how much he 'sucked in', his belt clearly pinched at his waist and there was no way he could keep it up the entire workday.

“Just buy new clothes, babe. It's no big deal.”

To which Jensen would scowl at Jared's reflection in further frustration … until Jared, cheeks flushed pink with need, rolled his big hands over that expanding middle. Until Jared tenderly released each straining button, and confessed his adoration for Jensen's blossoming weight. Until Jensen stopped seeing his growing weight as a hindrance and saw it as, well, sexy. It took a bit of evolution of thought, but day by day, pound by pound, the growth became a side-effect of their happiness together. And the more happiness? The better.

It's the first real warm day they've had this year, and Jensen is cooking brunch in nothing but boxerbriefs. His flanks are peppered with stretchmarks and hickeys from this morning's wake-up call. It's early and Saturday, but who cares? 

Jensen's gained 87 pounds since they embraced the lifestyle. It's two weeks 'til their first anniversary of moving in together. Jared has an idea, and that idea is a benjamin.

“Up for a challenge?” he murmurs in Jensen's ear. “You don't have to if you don't wanna...”

Which, of course, is exactly the thing you say to get Jensen to rise to the occasion. “Don't be a tease, asshole. What is it?” He's grinning ever-so-slightly, scrambling a dozen eggs in a cast iron skillet. Life on the edge, getting his bare belly that close to the hot metal.

“I think it'd be fun—” Jared slithers his hands around Jensen's chest and grabs palmfuls of smooth, plump breast, to which Jensen's nipples respond instantly, so sensitive—“to see if you could make it to the big one-oh-oh by the 30th.”

“Pounds?”

“No, dollars. Of course pounds.” 

Jensen slows with the spatula in the pan as he obviously crunches the numbers. “That's like fifteen days from now.”

“Hey, I get it. If you don't think you can.”

“Shut your face.”

“Really, no pressure—”

Jensen spins, pulls Jared into a crushing hug and kisses him hard, teeth knocking and tongues twining.

Challenge, accepted.

 

Within the hour—and after a quick mutual jerk-off—the table is loaded with eggs and buttered toast and sliced cantaloupe, coffee with cream and icy glasses of orange juice. On any given day, that would be plenty, but Jensen is on a mission. He artfully eats two bananas before he even touches brunch, and watching him master the fruit gets Jared half-hard again. Jensen knows it, too, the bastard. He moves onto brunch proper with luxurious delay, casually noshing through a mountain of scrambled eggs (with cheese, of course), a stack of toast, two pint glasses of juice. He knows Jared is mesmerized, and makes a show of licking his lips, moaning in satisfaction. Eventually, he leans back with a gratuitous hum, belly on full display, skin taut over a swell of pudge. He rubs his bulging sides, and Jared can't tear his eyes away.

“You're not full yet, are you?” Jared barely gets out, mouth gone dry.

Jensen stifles a hiccup, grinning like the fat cat he is, and jiggles his middle with both hands. “What, are you kidding? Not even close.” And Jared twitches, almost comes again, right then and there.

It's clear Jensen's feeling at least a little pinch, though, because he grunts as he rocks forward in his chair to start in on the coffee cake they'd snagged from the local bakery. Forkful after forkful, he powers through and by the time the pan is empty, he's huffing for breath. Didn't even save a crumb for Jared, by design. In retaliation, Jared slides a huge glass of milk across the table towards Jensen, and levels a look his way. _That_ look. The one he knows Jensen can't refuse. It never fails.

Jensen rolls his eyes and with a put-upon groan, grabs the milk and downs it in a steady rhythm of gulps. Milk dribbles over his chin— _chins_ —and Jared swears he can see Jensen's stomach give with each swallow. Jared is practically holding his breath when Jensen thumps the drained glass on the table with a resounding “Ahhh.”

“Full now?” Jared murmurs, one hand under the table on his own dick. Stroking.

Jensen shifts laboriously, doesn't bother to disguise his belch this time. “God, yeah,” he manages on an exhale. His hands are carefully brushing over his huge paunch as though every swipe might be too much pressure.

Jared stands, hard and straining at the fabric of his briefs. “Too full?” He know he sounds just the right amount of desperate.

Jensen squints, pauses, makes Jared crease his forehead expectantly. And despite his obvious discomfort, Jensen gives in … licks his lips and gestures Jared over. He has to shift in his chair and grunt to shove back the dirty plates, but then slaps the table and commands, “Sit.” Which Jared does, but not until he tugs off his underwear. He sits on the edge of the table with his cock thick and pink and pointing directly at Jensen. Jensen scoots to the lip of his chair, spreading his thighs to make space for his packed stomach.

He leans forward and languidly swirls his tongue over the tip, and Jared moans as Jensen takes him into his warm, wet mouth. Jensen sucks and massages and scrapes teeth across Jared's cock until he's a quivering mess and gratefully howling his orgasm into the back of Jensen's throat. Jensen, the consummate professional, never gags. It's a gift.

  
  


•Jensen•

A week into the challenge, Jensen has gone up a pant size. Shirt size, too, really, but he likes the feel of tight, smooth fabric over his gut. He likes the way his buttons strain and gap as he sits, the way his lavish middle pours onto his lap and whatever piece of furniture he's sitting on creaks in protest. Sometimes he lets himself regret all the years he spent dieting and fretting over so much as a skim of softness, but then he catches Jared watching him from the doorway, eyes dark and smile dimpling, and he thanks every lucky star that they found each other and in some double-layer of kismet, share this kink. A kink he never knew he had until he was allowed to admit it to himself. It was, at once, like a weight lifted from his psyche and copiously added to his id.

“Ready?” Jared jangles the car keys.

“Coming...”

To which Jared arches a brow and watches as Jensen has to rock a few times to lever himself off the bed. His belt is on the very last hole—which he actually had to punch himself—and it squeezes at his skin as his weight shifts with gravity.

They have reservations at one of those Brazilian steakhouses, the places where they keep circling your table with giant swords of every conceivable sort of meat, and the salad bar is a city unto itself.

Pricey, but Jared says they're celebrating the halfway mark. Meaning Jensen has roughly one more week to hit his goal. The scale has been tucked away on a high-up shelf, out of Jensen's reach, just in case he gets nosy. He doesn't mind, though. The journey is more than enough pleasure.

At the steakhouse, Jared takes the wheel. He knows what Jensen likes and really, Jensen doesn't mind in the least. He loves to be catered to; it allows him to focus on the task at hand, at the inarguable deliciousness of the food, at the artful way Jared arranges each plate with a different selection of vittles from the salad bar. Greens and reds and oranges, heaping. Jensen's stomach slowly forces itself into the edge of the table, expanding with each loaded plate, his fullness enhancing the feeling of skin-on-skin as his thighs press and his bellyrolls fill in atop of each other. Jared doesn't let Jensen do a thing for himself, except to gesture for a wandering waiter to bring more chicken or pork or sirloin or wine. It's exorbitant. People notice, and smile vaguely uncomfortable smiles, to which Jensen just rubs his middle and tries to shift his shirt to make more room. The effort is delightfully futile. 

By the time the dessert tray is brought to their table, Jensen can barely breathe. He's groggy from the wine and all the work his body is already doing to digest God knows how many calories, but Jared gets one of everything because “He can't decide.”

“I see what you did there.” Jensen grunts, leaning back as far as he can for comfort. He feels as if he moves the wrong way, he might split at the seams, and his hands drift to massage his aching, bloating sides.

Jared quirks a brow, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Tell me you weren't thinking it. Tell me you weren't wondering how close we are to the goal, and you want to get there _now_ but you're not sure you can do it.” He pauses, sipping his wine. “I know you can, though. Even if it's just a taste of each. Because you're amazing and beautiful and … ”

At some point, Jared had removed his expensive loafer and Jensen feels a socked foot meandering up his shin to his inner thigh, to the underside of his gut. Jared has long legs and toes like fingers, the freak. And he makes Jensen bite his lip and stifle a gasp.

“... I know you want to do this for us. For you. And for me, because God damn it, you're so fucking hot and the bigger you get, the hotter. It's that simple.”

Jensen does manage of goodly taste of each—even finishes the flan—and that's enough for Jared. He pays, moves behind Jensen's chair to help him stand, and whispers in his ear, “What a trooper. I love you.”  
Jensen doesn't have the spoons to be snarky. He's gorged, and he knows his buttons are straining everywhere. He waddles through the restaurant with Jared at his arm, and thank God they valeted the car; no way could he walk farther than a few steps in this state. He doesn't even want to put on his seatbelt, not sure he can. Though he's reclined the car seat, each bump makes his packed gut lumber and bounce. The whole time, Jared drives one-handed; the other hand rests on the apex of Jensen's belly, rubbing ever-so-gently. 

When they get home, Jensen can only sleep. He's too buzzed and overstuffed to do much else but that doesn't mean Jared isn't a patient man. The next morning, Jared is all over Jensen like gravy on poutine, then they go out for breakfast.

By all rights Jensen shouldn't be hungry, but he is.

  
  


•Jared•

It's warm and the garage door is open; a blessed breeze drifts in. Jared notes—with no small amount of irony—that he's dripping sweat all over the treadmill in their garage, training for yet another marathon, when today is The Day. Their anniversary and the day he's going to pull out the scale.

Jensen is at the free weights, as is his custom. His arms are as meaty as hams, biceps contracting into mountains with every heave. Kaleo is on the sound system, and as Jared runs in time to the music, Jensen lifts weights at a slower, more deliberate pace. He huffs out breath, strains, lifts, and his middle, lord, his middle … it's barely contained in his favorite work-out tank, the one with a Rolling Stones logo faded on the front. A pillow of gut shoves out beyond the fabric, glossy with perspiration. There's no doubt in Jared's mind that Jensen has hit the mark. His dedication to the cause, and Jared's coaxing and covert buttering of just about everything edible, has yielded _generous_ results. 

They wrap up their respective exercise and meander towards the bath, shedding sodden work-out wear as they go. Jensen grimaces and runs a finger across Jared's chest, flicking away sweat. “You need to eat more,” he says off-handedly. “All that stupid running.”

“ _You_ need to eat more. All this sexy … you.” Jared gives Jensen's ass a good slap, grinning as it jiggles. To which Jensen responds with a shove that sends Jared tottering. “Ay. Just for that? We're doing the weigh-in before lunch.”

“Oh, is that today?”

“You know it's today, don't jerk my chain, Ackles.”

“Yeah, yeah. Before lunch, though? That's not fair.”

“Sure it's fair. Either you've made it honestly or you haven't.”

“How about tonight? I made dinner reservations… ”

“That sounds like a delay tactic to me.”

“Good things come to those who wait.”

“Definitely a delay tactic—”

Jensen spins on Jared and locks him into a sweaty kiss. Shuts Jared right up. By the time Jensen lets Jared breath again, Jared is hopelessly aroused despite their collective funk. At least _one_ part of his body has chubbed up.

Jensen steps back with a smug chuckle. He palms his belly contemplatively, eyes narrowed as he ponders a come-back. “Okay, fine. Break it out, boss. I've got this.”

In a pretense of cool, Jared strolls off towards the basement where he's hidden the scale, running as soon as he's out of eyesight. He ain't fooling anyone, though; when he returns Jensen has just barely stopped laughing. 

Jared ceremoniously sets the scale on the floor, gesturing with a flourish. “Strip. Everything off. I don't want an ounce of cheating.”

“Cheating? Me? Please, son.” Jensen grunts as he bends to take off his socks; there's more than a little belly in the way now. He shimmies out of his briefs and in the clear light of the late-morning sun, he's deliciously, unquestionably fat. Barrel-chested but fleshy, a soft thick layer of pudge everywhere. Big rolls on his flanks, his thighs. Even his knees are dimpling. His cheeks are round under the stubble and there's artful stretchmarks on either side of his deepening navel, like parenthesis. It gives Jared ideas for the future.

But for now, the task at hand: the weigh-in. Jared gestures to the scale with a nod. Bites his lip, eager.

Jensen cracks his knuckles and takes a breath, stepping on. He looks down and huffs. “I can't see a damned thing around this monster,” he grumbles as he jostles his paunch. Jared bites back a grin.

The scale creaks and the digital read-out ticks up. And up. It cruises past 220 … 240 … 260. It flickers at 275 and thinks about slowing. But doesn't quite.

“Well?” Jensen sounds almost as eager as Jared felt thirty seconds ago. The scale has finally settled at an amazing 283. Jensen had busted the hundred-pound mark, and then some. A few scant pounds over, but nonetheless, it's brilliant. Jared briefly, selfishly considers fibbing, just to get Jensen to double-down his efforts and gorge like a python at lunch, but Jared isn't really a cheater either, except for the odd bit of extra bacon or cheese he'd put on Jensen's sandwiches. That didn't really count, did it?

“Well?!”

“You did it, man. One-hundred … and _three_ pounds.”

“No shit.”

“Yes, shit!”

“I just … wow.”

Jared cups Jensen's chubby chin and kisses him softly. Repeatedly. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Damn. This is, well, as much as I've ever weighed. Like, ever.” 

Jared eases back. He's not sure how to read the tone in Jensen's voice. “Are you okay with this? I mean, I think you're awe-inspiring and so fucking gorgeous but I'd never want …”

Jensen's brow is creased, lips drawn in a tight line.

“Jen? Seriously, if you're not on-board with this anymore, I have absolutely no problem with stopping.”

Jensen sighs, his expression easing. “I just. Um.”

“Yeah?” Jared sets his hand over Jensen's heart, a simple gesture.

“I think … I can't wait to see what 300 looks like on me.”

Jared blinks. “You asshole!” 

“You love my asshole.”

Which is not a lie, and Jared proves it to Jensen immediately thereafter. In no uncertain terms.

**Author's Note:**

> Based, with some variation, on this prompt from https://chubwinchesters.dreamwidth.org: 
> 
> "Dean has put on a lot of weight in the past year. Whether it’s intentional or just a thing that’s happened is up to you. On Christmas Sam finds out that a lot of weight translates to 87lbs He’s kind of fascinated by it and how close Dean was to putting on 100lbs in a year... of course the year isn’t over yet and while they don’t actuslly think they’ll be able to up his weight another 13lbs in a week it sure would be fun to try. If it was unintentional before that’s definitely not the case now. If Dean is a willing participant and if they make the goal is up to the author.
> 
> Any ages, sizes or AU fine. Alternately can be Jared and Jensen."
> 
> Bon appetit!


End file.
